


kisses in the fallout shelter

by kathryne



Series: Lives of the Saints [2]
Category: DCU, DCU - Comicverse, Secret Six
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Canon Lesbian Character, Character of Color, F/F, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-22
Updated: 2011-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:17:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathryne/pseuds/kathryne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeannette disapproves of Scandal's fixation on Knockout's death, and what sort of friend would she be if she didn't try to help Scandal work through her grief?  Set between "Unhinged" and "Double Date" (SS issues 7 and 8).</p>
            </blockquote>





	kisses in the fallout shelter

**Author's Note:**

> Contains consensual sexual violence (not more than is canonical, though, I don't think). Thanks to Bell for translation assistance!
> 
> Can be read as in the same universe as [Begun in Wine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/37883), but reading that is not necessary to understand this.

Sleeping in the House of Secrets is like being cradled in the arms of Death himself. A house of victims, Scandal called it, and Jeannette feels a kinship immediately. The House is almost a living being; it breathes dark thoughts of murder and violence, invading the privacy of Jeannette's dreams with ancient feuds. Some of the memories recall the taste of Scandal's blood to her, a taste she thought long forgotten; her darling friend's past pain whispers to her from the walls.

Jeannette sleeps deep and sweetly, and wakes in the morning calm and refreshed.

The lowlies have laid out her gown and there is coffee perking in the kitchen. Jeannette slips from between satin sheets and smiles. Her new teammates like their creature comforts, don't they? All that's missing is a warm body to wake up next to, but it's early days yet. Time, soon, to lure the burly shootist into her clutches, show him how his talent for death enhances her bedroom play. She will wait till his wounds have healed, though, so they can both see the marks she leaves on him.

She draws on a robe and pads out to the kitchen, eager to see what chaos this day will bring. The babble of voices grows louder as she gets closer; two baritones twine around Bane's rumbling bass and the contortionist's unnatural countertenor, creating a chorus of confusion that peaks as she steps through the door.

Scandal is nowhere to be seen.

"Lissen," Lawton says, "I ain't goin' after her. We got history on this subject, her an' me, and it wouldn't end good." He shrugs and slouches against the counter, flicking his cigarette in the general direction of an ashtray.

"Ooh, I'll go, I'll go!" Merkel stretches out of his chair, body looking like a strand of the taffy pulls of which he is so inordinately fond. "I've been thinking quite often about the fate of my dear departed 'Demon, and really, Hell _can't_ be worse than what he underwent at the hands of Granny Goodness. Why, he and Knockout must both be positively _bored_ with the torments they're enduring now. I'm sure it would cheer Scandal right up to think of it like that." He twines around himself like a fool capering at a public hanging.

"When last you tried to 'cheer her up,' she vomited," Bane observes.

"Yes, but she won't have been drinking for _nearly_ as long this time."

Blake lifts his head from his hands and Jeannette sees a bruise forming high on his cheekbone, dark purple overlaid on the faded greens and yellows of their last battle. "Well, I can't go," he says. "She won't listen to me, not now." He winces, probing the extent of his new wound. "No offense, Bane, but whatever pseudo-fatherly vibe you've got going on, I don't think it's the right time for that, either. We need someone who'll reason with her."

Jeannette clears her throat delicately, and all four men turn to face her. "My dear friends," she says dangerously. "Do I understand properly that you have started this fine, bright spring day by quarreling with Scandal, driving her to violence and in fact causing her to leave without even bidding me good morning?"

Blake all but sticks his hands in his pockets and digs his toe into the ground. "There may have been a slight misunderstanding," he says defensively. "We were talking about the card, and I got onto the topic of Knockout and didn't realize Scandal was in the hall..."

"And then she came up and decked him and beat it," Lawton says with the superior air of one who managed to avoid getting punched for his stupidity. "I figger she'll be back when she cools off, but now you're awake, so."

Ah, that card. Jeannette shakes her head. She knows better than to assume it has been destroyed, but neither is she interested in searching out its ultimate fate. That way lies a madness she left behind long ago. She sighs a long-suffering sigh and gathers her robe around her. "Is there a bar in town that will be open at this hour of the morning?" she asks.

The men stare at her.

"Well? Is there?" she demands. "I mean, I love Scandal dearly, but the woman is predictable, mm?"

*

There is a bar, and Scandal is there, sprawled in a corner booth with a half-empty bottle in front of her. Jeannette marches across the dingy room, picks up the bottle, and upends it onto the floor. Whiskey splatters her boots and she steps back in disgust, neatly avoiding Scandal's uncoordinated grab for the bottle. "Really, dear heart," she says, sitting down without waiting for an invitation. "Nothing can be bad enough to excuse drinking that rotgut."

"Leave me 'lone," Scandal slurs, knocking back the last of the whiskey that was in her glass.

Jeannette winces. Reaching over, she brushes a damp strand of hair off Scandal's forehead, tucking it behind her ear. Scandal recoils from the touch, then leans into it, her eyes fluttering shut. She looks as young as she has never been, and Jeannette's heart clenches. They sit in silence for a long moment, Jeannette stroking Scandal's hair. The bartender starts in their direction, frowning at the puddle of whiskey on the floor; Jeannette glares at him menacingly, letting the banshee show in her eyes, and he retreats behind the bar.

"I miss her," Scandal says eventually.

"I know you do, my darling," Jeannette replies simply. "But you cannot let those buffoons affect you like this. You must be strong for her."

"I'm tired of being fucking strong," Scandal bursts out, jerking away from Jeannette's touch. "Is that everything that I can do without her, be strong and endure? Strong enough to lead the team, strong enough to get us jobs and get through them and listen to the two of them laugh about her as though she was never one of us – " She breaks off and takes a deep breath. "Strong enough to bring her back," she finishes, half to herself. "But what happens when I can't be strong any longer, without her here to be strong for _me_?"

"Scandal, dearest. You don't mean that," Jeannette says, taken aback. Scandal has mounted some absurd rescue missions in the past, but surely not even she would consider…

Scandal growls at her. "Of course I fucking do. What, you think I didn't love her enough, is that it? Think I wouldn't go to the depths of Hell itself if I thought I could get her out. I would trade myself for her in an instant. You of all people should know that."

"You know I do," Jeannette says without hesitation. She understands all too well the loyalty Scandal gives to those who earn it, and the nigh-suicidal zeal with which she pursues all manner of illogical quests. She clasps Scandal's hands in her own; this, she fears, may finally be a step too far. "Far be it for me to claim that returning from the dead is impossible," Jeannette continues, "but it is extremely unlikely, dear one."

Scandal pulls back and takes Jeannette's face in her hands. "You did, didn't you," she breathes, suddenly excited.

Jeannette blinks. "I did what?"

"You came back. It is possible. It is!" Scandal laughs to herself, swinging from depression to nigh-manic joy. "Even without the card."

Will the woman not see sense? She hears only what she wants to hear. Jeannette grabs Scandal by the arms and shakes her, desperate to shock her out of her trance. Her fingers sink into Scandal's flesh, gripping tight enough to bruise, and Scandal's eyes go suddenly wide. She stiffens, raising one hand to cover Jeannette's where it presses into her shoulder.

"Harder," she whispers.

Jeannette's grasp tightens involuntarily and Scandal moans, a broken sound laced with arousal. "I forgot," she says, forcing Jeannette's fingers tighter until she thinks she can feel Scandal's bones grinding together. "I forgot how strong you are, too." Her other hand cups Jeannette's cheek – so gently, in contrast! – and then the back of her head, drawing her down.

Scandal's kiss is gentle too, gentler than Jeannette ever remembers sharing with her all those years ago. Under the thin, sour whiskey, Scandal tastes faintly of tears; Jeannette lets go of her shoulders and tries to pull back, but Scandal digs her nails into the nape of Jeannette's neck, holding her there, and Jeannette snarls and bites Scandal's lip, harder than she means to.

Jeannette woke that morning with the memory of Scandal's blood following her up from her dreams, faint and gone before she rose. Now she licks the taste out of Scandal's mouth, holding her head in place; need she'd thought long buried by affection curls deep in her belly, somewhere below the core of pain that feeds the banshee.

When she lets go, Scandal's eyes are shut; her head stays tipped up, lips red and wet, as if she is waiting for permission to move. Jeannette runs a finger across those red lips, pressing her nail into their fullness. Scandal shivers but doesn’t pull back, baring herself even more, almost submissive but for the pressure of her hand at the back of Jeannette's neck. Not begging, not even asking, but demanding.

Well. Jeannette smiles sharply. Far be it for her to deny a dear friend something she needs so badly. But this is not the place, not here in this cramped, dark little hole, with whiskey fumes and stale smoke surrounding them. They both deserve a more suitable environment. She rises gracefully to her feet and pulls Scandal after her, using a little more of her strength than she normally would. Scandal sways and puts an arm around her waist, and for the first time in a long time Jeannette remembers their height difference.

"Come, little one," she says, her hand around Scandal's upper arm like a vise. "Let me take you home."

*

Scandal's room in the House of Secrets feels different than Jeannette's. Where Jeannette senses the weight of the House's history pressing down on her in her room, in Scandal's it almost seems as if the House is holding its breath. The room is immaculate, everything in a place, but there is a hole there too, waiting to be filled.

Jeannette throws Scandal down onto the bed, rumpling the duvet, and breathes out, shattering the equilibrium.

For a long moment she merely looks at Scandal, taking in every detail of her appearance. She has changed little since Jeannette last saw her, but then, neither of them is likely to age in a manner visible to the naked eye. Even the bruises and cuts from their battle in Gotham have long since faded from Scandal's skin, a reassuring reminder of her recuperative abilities. Jeannette smirks and kneels on the bed to tug off Scandal's shoes.

She always did prefer working on a blank canvas.

Scandal traps her bottom lip between her teeth, looking almost demure until Jeannette sees the flesh whitening with the pressure she's exerting. Jeannette swallows. She should, she knows, be taken aback by the pain and injury Scandal seems to find it appropriate to deal to herself. Part of her is deeply worried by the evident emotional turmoil. But she knows, too, that the sooner Scandal can let go of her guilt, the less likely she is to disappear in the night, off on a rescue mission that Jeannette cannot help see as doomed before it even begins.

"Well?" Scandal demands impatiently. "Have you changed your mind?" She sounds torn between annoyance and desire, unsure whether to seize the opportunity to call a halt before they even begin. Jeannette can see clearly how easily she would turn this into another mistake, another opportunity to engage in self-flagellation. If Scandal cannot overcome her grief until she sees on the outside the pain she feels on the inside, so be it, but she needn't beat herself up so. Jeannette is happy to take care of that for her.

"Not yet," she replies, lowering herself over Scandal, pressing her into the duvet until she is nearly buried in soft drifts of feathers. Grasping Scandal's wrists, she pins them above her head with one hand and draws the other down the line of her arms, her neck, over her lips – soft, soft, all soft, until Scandal is arching up beneath her, head back and neck begging to be bitten.

Jeannette presses her lips to Scandal's bared pulse point, feeling the rhythm of her beating heart increase as Scandal slides a knee between hers, edging her skirt up her thighs.

Between one beat and the next, the world spins: Scandal braces her leg and flips Jeannette over, slamming her into the mattress so hard that her head snaps back and her hair comes out of its pins. "Goddammit," Scandal spits, glorious in her rage as she presses her forearm under Jeannette's chin. "Stop being so fucking careful. I'm not going to _break_." She yanks down the neck of Jeannette's gown, tearing the fastenings, baring her to the waist.

"If you're sure, darling," Jeannette says, struggling to draw breath. Scandal forces her head back further and Jeannette knocks her away with an open-handed slap. She doesn't use her full strength, but Scandal sails off the bed nevertheless, landing in a heap against the wall. Jeannette rises from the bed and lets her gown fall to the floor, leaving her naked but for her boots. Stalking across the room, she takes Scandal by the hair and hauls her to her feet.

Scandal swats at her ineffectually, but Jeannette grabs one hand, then both, and pins them to the wall again, using her extra height to draw Scandal up onto her toes. "It'll go harder if you struggle," she whispers, balling Scandal's shirt in her fist and pulling till the fabric starts to tear. Scandal tries to tug away; Jeannette ignores her, holding her still and bending to claim a kiss. She forces Scandal's mouth open with teeth and tongue and loses herself in the dark violence, the delightful frisson of Scandal struggling against her.

Scandal bites into Jeannette's lower lip and kicks at her knee in the same moment, sending Jeannette staggering back from the wall. She wipes a hand over her mouth – she is bleeding – and then licks the blood from her fingers, watching Scandal's pupils dilate. Breathing hard, they circle each other like gladiators. Jeannette's blood hums between her legs and Scandal is almost smiling as she rushes Jeannette, knocking them both back onto the bed.

"Been a while, has it?" she pants, trapping Jeannette's nipple between her fingers and twisting it cruelly. "You're off your game, Jeannette. Or are you still taking it easy on me?"

Jeannette looks Scandal in the eye and yawns. "I'm sorry, darling, I was waiting for the foreplay to begin," she says, trying not to moan at the delicious pain of Scandal's grip. She doesn't quite manage, but the competitive fire kindles in Scandal's face once more. The mood is shifting, slowly; no longer burdened by Scandal's personal anguish, now the two are dominated by the fierce joy of pitting strength against strength.

Scandal redoubles her efforts, taking Jeannette's other breast in her mouth and worrying it with sharp teeth, and this time Jeannette lets herself cry out. Scandal _is_ strong, almost to a meta level, and it has been so very long since Jeannette has been able to take pleasure without the possibility of injuring her partner. Desire ignites within her and she digs her nails into Scandal's back, tearing off the rest of her shirt and pulling her upwards until they lie skin to skin. "Missed you," she says against Scandal's neck, giving in to her earlier desire to sink her teeth into the flesh there.

"So I see," Scandal says, sliding slim fingers down across Jeannette's belly to rub between her legs. Scandal's touch is light, not nearly enough, and Jeannette grinds herself down against it, seeking fulfillment.

Scandal pulls away and Jeannette arches up desperately, arms around Scandal's neck like a lifeline. "Curse it," she gasps, her fingers slipping on Scandal's sweat-soaked skin. "If you know what's good for you, Scandal Savage - "

Scandal laughs down at her, face alight with the joy of competition and not in the least afraid, and Jeannette loves her for it. "I've never known what's good for me, sweetheart," she points out, pinning Jeannette's hips down. "You'll have to do better than that."

"...damnation." Jeannette shakes her hair out of her eyes. Scandal has a point; physical intimidation is unlikely to be a deterrent in this particular instance. Nor has Scandal traditionally been vulnerable to Jeannette's practiced charms.

Scandal smirks, running teasing fingers along the outside of Jeannette's hip, tantalizingly close to where Jeannette needs her to touch. The rough fabric of the trousers Scandal is still, somehow, wearing rubs against the sensitive skin of Jeannette's inner thighs. "Not so fond of being patient, are you?"

"No," Jeannette snaps, twining her legs around Scandal and rolling her forcibly onto her back. Scandal uses the momentum, though, twisting again so they roll right off the bed. They land with a crash on the floor; Jeannette, on the bottom once more, has the breath knocked from her lungs.

"That wasn't very effective." Scandal settles herself atop Jeannette and bends to kiss her thoroughly. "Care to try again? Or you could just ask nicely."

"How deliciously perverse." Jeannette thinks about forcing Scandal to her knees and simply taking her pleasure. But what would be the fun in that? "Please, then, my fierce one," she says, nails drawing blood along Scandal's spine. "Have your way with me, so that I might take my turn and make you scream until you can no longer speak."

"Promises," Scandal says, and slides three fingers inside Jeannette without preamble.

Jeannette works herself down on Scandal's hand, hissing at the stretch. Scandal's touch is familiar and yet not; her fingers and thumb press in all the right places, but there is a desperation to her movements that drives Jeannette ever higher. Scandal is not afraid to hurt her, nor to be hurt, and the bruising pace she sets spirals pleasure into pain until Jeannette is gasping helplessly, Scandal's hand within her pinning her to the floor as surely as the headsman's axe once pinned her to the gallows block.

"There, now," Scandal whispers. "Isn't this worth a little begging?" She flicks the fingers of her other hand against Jeannette's centre and that final tiny pain sends Jeannette over the edge, screaming herself in the glorious agony of release.

It takes Jeannette a moment to regain her senses; when she does, Scandal is watching her, a tiny, smug smile playing across her lips. Jeannette can't decide whether she wants to knock the expression off Scandal's face or kiss it away. She settles on the latter, for now – the violence will come later – and pulls Scandal to her for an embrace that is surprisingly free of sharp edges. "You are indeed a woman of many talents," she says, giddy in the afterglow, and lifts Scandal up to sit her on the edge of the bed.

Scandal runs sticky fingers through Jeannette's hair, carding it back from her face. "On your knees, dear?" she says, lifting her hips as Jeannette finally tugs off her trousers and shorts.

"Only on special occasions," Jeannette replies, knocking Scandal flat on the bed. She presses Scandal's legs apart at an uncomfortable angle and licks her way up the inside of her thighs, pausing to leave toothmarks in the translucent skin where it thins enough that the arteries beneath are almost visible.

" _Danadinha_ ," Scandal gasps out – no doubt something unimaginably foul, but Jeannette doesn't bother to translate – and fists her hand in Jeannette's hair, pulling steadily. Jeannette refuses to be moved, though, mouthing the crease of Scandal's thigh and enjoying herself thoroughly.

Scandal scrabbles at the tangled sheets and kicks Jeannette's shoulder, rocking her backwards slightly. "I won't beg," she says, panting, and pulls harder on Jeannette's hair.

"I wouldn't want you to, dear one." Jeannette lays her head on Scandal's leg and looks up at her mischievously. "But I won't be rushed."

" _Filha de puta_." Scandal's nails prick at Jeannette's scalp before she relaxes, offering herself up to Jeannette's tender torture. And that, there, is what Jeannette has waited for, that release of responsibility and control that she know Scandal allows herself so rarely. Her hands clutch bruisingly on Scandal's hips for a moment before she bends to taste the slick skin at Scandal's core.

Jeannette has had centuries of experience in the bedroom, a fact upon which she occasionally prides herself. Even so, she loses herself, here, in the liminal space between Scandal's hips; she is deaf to all but the broken sounds she wrings from Scandal's throat.

She isn't screaming yet, but she will be. Jeannette will not willingly go back on a promise that she has made to Scandal.

"Enough," Scandal says at one point, shivering again in the aftermath.

Jeannette crawls up onto the bed to kiss her, mouth thick with Scandal's own taste. "Not nearly, darling," she murmurs, settling her knee between Scandal's legs and dragging Scandal against it in a punishing rhythm. Scandal is bruising already, handprints like blue tattoos curling over her hipbones; Jeannette lines her fingers up purposefully, wondering how long her marks will last.

Scandal convulses under her and tries to push her away, and Jeannette lets her, just for a moment. She leans back on her heels and lets her hair spill down over her skin. "Beautiful," Scandal says, running her hands over scars left lifetimes ago.

"I promised to make you scream, sweet girl," Jeannette says, capturing Scandal's hand and drawing it up to her mouth to nip at the fingertips. "Don't think I've forgotten."

"You'll break me," Scandal says, fingers trembling in Jeannette's grasp.

"Perhaps you need to be broken."

Jeannette is gentle this time, fingers and tongue and only the slightest hint of teeth on Scandal's swollen flesh, until Scandal stops trying to get away and starts rolling her hips into Jeannette's mouth. And finally she does scream, cursing Jeannette and all the gods until the room fills with noise and emotion and her heels drum on Jeannette's back.

Then her face crumples, and Jeannette scrambles gracelessly back onto the bed as Scandal bursts into tears.

"Hush now, dear heart." Jeannette gathers Scandal into her arms, cradling her as she weeps. "It's all right." She presses a kiss to Scandal's hair and thinks of all the loves she has lost over the years, and then she lies. "It will be all right, do you understand me?"

Scandal scrubs the tear tracks off her face and nods shakily. "I do. I... I do." She swallows and curls back into Jeannette's embrace.

Jeannette runs her hand down the line of Scandal's back, feeling tense muscles unknot themselves as she releases her deathgrip on the past. Slowly, so slowly, Scandal edges into sleep, and Jeannette smiles.

*

Jeannette gathers the remains of her gown around her and slips carefully from the room, though little short of an avalanche is likely to wake Scandal now. Still, she pulls the door shut quietly, taking only a moment for one last fond glance at her friend sprawled across the battlefield that was her bedchamber.

She turns, and Lawton is there. He doesn't try to keep his eyes above her neckline; rather, he traces them over every inch of exposed flesh. Despite the pleasant lassitude that pervades her, she feels her breath quicken; his casual disregard for propriety extends to his skill with death as well. "Something on your mind, Mr. Lawton?" she asks.

"Nothin' more'n you'd guess, after the noise you two've been making," he replies, lighting a cigarette. "This gonna be a regular thing? Only I was thinkin' of moving my room if it was. So I c'n hear better, you know."

Jeannette laughs delightedly. "You are a breath of fresh air in a stale and unoriginal world," she tells him.

"Yeah, I get that a lot. Sunshine and daisies, that's me." He blows a plume of smoke towards the ceiling and scratches his chin. "You and Scandal, then, guess that's my sign to butt out."

"Not at all, dear man. That was merely two old friends taking a bit of comfort in a long-awaited reunion. You and I, now. We'll have to start something new." She gives him a coquettish smile and flutters her eyelashes, not because she thinks it necessary as much as because she enjoys the game. "Have you any plans for this weekend, my charming death-bringer?"

"Lady, you are a piece of work," Lawton says admiringly. "You got somethin' particular in mind?"

"Mm." Jeannette takes it in her turn to look him up and down. "I do indeed. But let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?"

"Right. So, Friday then?" Lawton asks, lighting another cigarette off the smouldering end of the first. One of the lowlies appears as if by magic, and Lawton drops the still-burning butt into his hand without a thought. "Long as we don't get anyone trying ta take us out before then, I mean?"

"Delightful. I look forward to it." Jeannette pats him on the cheek, her hand still damp with blood and other fluids, and leaves him standing in the corridor. Really, she thinks, her time with this team is off to a promising start.


End file.
